Can't Keep My Eyes off of You
by fakeituntilyoumakeit
Summary: Merlin is a twenty year old tutor whose life just fell apart at the seams. Arthur is a troubled, arrogant rockstar with a six year old that's being tutored by Merlin. Merlin begins to fall for Arthur, but who's that woman in the attic and where are those noises at night coming from? Merlin/Arthur Jane Eyre in a modern, Merthur take. AU Slash
1. Chapter 1

**So, here we are. I thought I might give you a little background info. Firstly, this fiction will essentially be a Merthur take on Jane Eyre, which is my favourite classic romance novel by far. Then I thought, why not do a modern, AU version? So, then came the problem of how to devide them. I could've done Prince and Servant, but I thought I'd switch it up a little, and SO ARTHUR BECAME A ROCK IDOL. LOL. I know what your thinking, but give him a chance. I combined my love of Merthur, with my lock of rock and roll.**

**btw, he's based off a lot of Steven Tyler, (my personal idol) so insult Steven Tyler and I will find you. *EVIL EYE* *CRACK OF LIGHTNING***

**anyways, enough threatening, let's get on with it. **

**Disclaimer: ME NO OWN LADIES AND GENTS. Let's try to be logical here, if I owned Merthur, would I share them with you? NO.**

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_"The fate of your heart is a choice and nobody else gets to vote."_

_- Sarah Dessen , The Luullaby_

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**_Chapter One_**

The chairs in the front office of Mercia Tutor Company were surprisingly uncomfortable. You'd think a fancy company like this one would spend the money on comfie chairs. He sat stiffly, trying not to fidget in his new dress pants. He'd taken the last of his measly sums out of his bank account this morning, and spent it on what he thought a professional, serious tutor would look like. In a dark blue dress shirt tucked into hand-me-down black dress pants and uncomfortable fake leather dress shoes and too large belt, Merlin felt a little ridiculus. His new shoes chaffed his heels, and his pants fell down constantly, a curse of being a bean-pole. He'd spent all morning at a second hand store, determined to look the part of what he thought he should look.

Apparently, he'd gotten it wrong.

There were a few other applicants sitting in the lobby wth him. There was a young, college aged girl with a dark ginger braid sat across from him, calmly flipping through a Cosmo. She was wearing jeans, a t-shirt and wellington's. There was another applicant sitting near the exit had tousled blonde hair, a cardigan, faded jeans and was playing Angry Birds on her iPod. Another sat right by the desk, she had short, boyishly cut brown hair and was listening to a diskman, swaying a little to the music in a full skirt and flats. They were all called before him - Bailey, Addison and Gretchen were there names, and they paid him no attention.

In my lap, was my worn out, faded brown leather messenger bag, containing a few essentials and my resume. His father had given him this messenger bag when he was fifteen years old a few days before he died. His musing was cut short when a deep and powerful voice resonated through the lobby.

"Merlin Emrys?"

He looked up and jumped to his feet, stumbling a bit and catching himself on the arm of the chair. _I am such a clotpole, _he thought, angry at himself for looking so desperate. The man was bald, and had large, almost golden toned eyes. He was tall, and thick and made Merlin's scrawny self feel quite intimidated. He introduced himself as Mr. Kilgarah, shook Merlin's hand and turned turned briskly, striding through the still open door and down a long hallway. Merlin grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder carefully, and hurried after him.

His office was large, had alot of rock accents, and echoed, reminding Merlin of a cave. There were an unusual amount of chairs to choose from, and he picked the one closest to the desk and sat, carefully and as gracefully as he could, sliding a copy of his resume across the massive oak desk. Through black rimmed reading glasses, Mr. Kilgarah read silently, brow slightly furrowed in concentration.

"It says here you just started your teaching degree in September, why decide to quit only after seven months of college? Employer's won't find that attractive."

"Decided it wasn't right for me." Though he had expected this question, his voice still caught in his throat. On the subway ride, he'd rehearsed it in his head. How he'd left his tiny, rinky-dink town at eighteen and had gone to Paris, writing in a tattered leather notebook on bench in front of the eiffel tower, observing the lovestories unfolding around him and writing neat notes in his book. How he'd gotten an email from his mother, asking about him and how he'd been selfish and ignored her, too absorbed in his writing and with Paris. How he'd called when she hadn't emailed him in a while to check in, and was surprised to her his Uncle's voice on the phone. How his mother had killed herself, and his estranged brother, Will, hand found her bleeding out on the kitchen floor yesterday. Merlin had returned home and remained in the house, trying to ignore the pink stains in the grout of the kitchen tile. How he'd been unable to afford the house, and had been forced to sell it. How he'd gone to college, as per his mother's wishes and been miserable and depressed, thinking of nothing except his mother and yearning to be free, writing once more. How he'd come to realize that he was wasting his time, and thousands of dollars in school to be a teacher to teach children who were only English because they were forced to be. How he'd dropped out, then come to the realization that in three weeks, at the beginning of the new semester, he'd be homeless. He had nowhere left to go, Will had disappeared after the funeral and Merlin hadn't heard from him since.

Mr. Kilgarah stared at him, as if waiting for him to elaborate. When he was met with silence, and a guarded stare, he glanced back down at his desk. "Your grades are strong."

Merlin nodded, feeling a little proud of himself. "If you need more information, there's letters of recomendation from three professors in there, as well as faculty reports on my behaviour stapled to the back of my resume." His voice sounded clipped and false.

He licked his finger, rifling through the pages at great speed. "I see you were going through for a degree in English and literature. That could be very appealing to some customer's, as so many children struggle with reading and writing at a young age." A pause. More reading. "And you've taken CPR classes and have worked with children before. Another plus."

"I've been babysitting since I was thirteen. All my references will vouch that I'm structured, smart, kind, punctual, responsible and efficient." He paused to inhale, apparently forgetting how to breath.

Something in his expression changed, Merlin wasn't sure exactly what it was. "Tell me, how do you feel about music?"

"Um, I was in band in middle school," He floundered around, wondering what he was supposed to say, what the right answer was. "I played the clarinet." He added unneccasarily. Mr. Kilgarah raised a large hand, moving it like Merlin's answer was written on a whiteboard and he was erasing it.

"Popular music? Modern music? How do you feel about it?"

Merlin pondered for a second. "I've never much listened to it. I prefer Jazz." He prayed this was what Mr. Kilgarah wanted to hear.

Mr. Kilgarah looked pleased, and folded his hands in front of him, on top of Merlin's resume. "And celebrities? Do you read gossip magazines? Us? National Enquirer? Star? Do you watch MTV or Entertainment Tonight?"

Merlin shook his head slowly, confused. "I don't care much about celebrities."

Mr. Kilgarah had a pleased smile on his face, his eyes narrowed and he slouched a little in his large leather chair. "You might just be perfect."

That night, Merlin's cellphone rang, and he hopped off his uncomfortable dorm bed to grab it off his nightstand. He answered it, and was surprised to hear the deep voice of Mr. Kilgarah on the other end. He sounded slightly breathless, and a lot younger and a whole lot less intimidating that he did in person. "Merlin, I'm glad I reached you. I have arranged the perfect oppurtunity for you."

Merlin's heart skipped a beat and he struggled to push down his massive grin. "That's great!"

"Indeed. It should go to a more qualified contender, but until you came in this morning I hadn't been able to find anyone ..." There was a shuffling of papers on the other end. "Anyone with the right character."

Merlin leaned back against the wall and thumped his head on the wall. Wincing, he rubbed the sore spot and hoped Mr. Kilgarah hadn't heard it. If he did, he said nothing of it. "This will sound odd, but I'm unable to give you any information over the telephone. Perhaps we could meet in the morning." Without waiting for a reply, Mr. Kilgarah spoke again. "Excellent. Shall we say, eleven o'clock at my office?"

Merlin nodded, before remembering Mr. Kilgarah couldn't see his nod. "Of course, that'd be awesome." He wanted to smack himself. _Awesome?_

Mr. Kilgarah simply hummed, before saying a parting message of "Have a pleasant night." And promptly ended the phone call.

Merlin barely slept a wink that night. What kind of job couldn't be discussed over the phone? And why all the talk of celebrities? Was he to tutor the Prime Minister's kid or something? A royal?

By the time, morning came, Merlin was alert but very tired and also very anxious. When he arrived back to Mercia Tutor Company, he was whisked into 'The Cave', as Merlin had dubbed it right away, the dark skinned secretary already shoving a mug of scalding hot coffee into his hands before he could turn it away. Wrinkling his nose, he set it in his lap, careful not to spill. He was in the same getup as yesterday because there really wasn't much else to wear (besides Snoopy PJ's and a bathrobe)

"You can't tell anyone the details of this job. Not friends, not family, and especially not the press." Mr. Kilgarah warned, looking a little tired himself, but still intimidating as he swore young Merlin to secrecy.

"I swear I won't tell anyone." That wouldn't be a hard thing to do. He had barely any friends, and didn't talk to most of his family.

"Your future employer is of great interest to the sharks- I mean, to the press. A celebrity, if you will. It is crucial you remain discreet, and do not cause any scenes or draw negative attention to him. And under no circumstances are you allowed to talk to the press and share personal information about him."

_So this mysterious, apparently celebrity employer is a him, _Merlin thought, _interesting. _

"There will be a confidentiality contract to sign." Mr. Kilgarah continued. "You may run it by a lawyer, if you wish."

_A lawyer?_ Merlin blinked, suddenly feeling a little sceptical. _Who was this guy? A mob boss?What am I getting myself in to?_

"I'll sign it," Merlin assured him, fidgeting a little. "I don't need to run it by a lawyer." Not that he could afford one, anyways.

"I have a feeling about you Merlin," Mr. Kilgarah eyed him. Merlin tried to remain calm under his assessing gaze. "You seem ... real. Trustworthy."

Pride swelled a little within Merlin and he sat up a little straighter. "Thank you sir," he paused, and then blurted out, unable to help himself, "Who exactly will I be working for?"

Kilgarah smirked, crossing his legs. "Merlin, surely even you have heard of Arthur Pendragon?" Merlin tried not to be offended at the 'even you' bit, but it was true. Even if Will hadn't spent his teenage years blasting his music throughout the house. He probably knew every lyric to every song on his album, _Excalibur_. Especially that one, Merlin racked his brain for the title and came up with it in one second flat.

_King of Your World_

It was one of those songs you heard everywhere, no matter where you were. The mall, elevators, the grocery store, blasting out of other people's car radio's. He could picture Arthur Pendragon's attractive face, staring down at him from his poster on Will's bedroom door, a metallic silver guitar clutched in cut up hands, long legs clad in tight leather. He was one of those celebrities that were everywhere, no matter what they did. Merlin faintly recalled hearing something about a drug bust and a string of model girlfriends and a divorce that was on every cover of every magazine. Merlin couldn't recall the woman's name, or even what she looked like.

Hadn't they both been junkies?

Suddenly a little freaked out, Merlin began to sweat. Just how badly did he need this job? Was it really worth it? What if he was still a junkie? Or a crazy, drunk bastard with a differnt girl screaming every night? Or an asshole?

He thought back to his dormroom, where his life had been crammed into one tiny suitcase, and how he had fifteen dollars and thrity three cents to his name.

Suddenly, something occured to him.

"He has children?" Maybe he was teaching Arthur Pendragon himself how to read.

"Yes, a girl. Six years old, named Tia. It was in the news, but you wouldn't remember, I'm sure." Kilgarah's voice was impatient, but a little pleased at Merlin's blank look. "Her mother was some washed up singer from America. Perhaps you know of her? Sophia?"

The name rung a few distant bells. "What happened to her? Do they share custody?"

"I'm not sure." Kilgarah was back to his professional self, and got back to arranging my confidentiality agreement. "The details shouldn't concern you. And I wouldn't worry about any drug use, if it makes you uncomfortable. He has been clean for a while."

"Oh," Merlin's mouth felt dry. "I'm ... glad to hear it."

"Listen, Merlin Emrys," Mr. Kilgarah's voice was piercing in the stillness of the office. His telephone rang, but he didn't make a move to answer it. He stared pointedly into his eyes. "Arthur Pendragon is a devoted father, who wants his daughter to have a top-notch education. The pay is excellent, you'll be living at his mansion outside of London and you'll be in close proximity to a rock and roll legend. Most people your age would die for this position." Kilgarah finished his speech, ushered Merlin to the door, after handing him a legal-looking stack of papers to sign and send back, and called out to Merlin just as he was leaving.

"Oh, and Merlin?" He paused. "Don't screw it up."

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**Revew please? I'll love you forever.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here we are! Sorry for the spelling mistakes in the last chapter, I'm currently searching for a beta, (if your interested, or know somebody, message me!) but I was so excited about the first chapter that I posted it without going through it well enough. **

**How'd you like Mr. Kilgarah? LOL.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the actual TV series, nor from Jane Eyre.**

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_"My love for you has no strings attatched. I love you for free"_

_-Tom Robbins, __Still Life with Woodpecker_

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_**Chapter Two**_

Despite Mr. Kilgarah's advice about tabloids, Merlin spent his last night on campus in the library, researching everything about Arthut Pendragon. It wasn't that he really cared for the story of hislove life, criminal record or rise to stardom; if anything the details made his stomach twist in knots. But Merlin Emrys believed in being prepared.

The lab was airconditioned to Ice Age temperatures, so Merlin was still wearing his thick parka in lab, as ridiculous as that must have looked. Classes were over, and the computer lab was empty, Merlin was a little depressed suddenly at his lack of friends. Even old Mrs. Alexander was out, and the cranky librarian had no friends except for her cats.

Every now and then laughter would fill the library, from groups of friends passing by windows, enjoying their first day of freedom. Merlin was in one of the old, black leather chairs in the back, his roomate's borrowed laptop balanced on his skinny knees.

It didn't take long to find an astonishing amount of information on Arthur Pendragon. None of it was reassuring. Arthur's early press was positive, almost excessively so. His band, Camelot, had glided along on mid-success for about four or five years, playing clubs and opening for a few well-known bands. Until their third album bowled critics over and became an instant hit. Merlin could remember hearing that album blaring from behind Will's locked door every afternoon for three months. One song in particular, "Bested by a Beast" played irritatingly in my mind. I read record reviews, and Wikipedia and short bio's of the three other bandmates - Leon Young, Percival Hopper and Gwaine Macken.

Arthur Pendragon's biography was fairly normal, growing up in London, son of business tycoon Uther Pendragon, his mother died in childbirth. A smart, ambitious student, but shocked his father by refusing to attend business school and instead, starting a band. Arthur Pendragon and Camelot had shot from obscurity to stardom, and soon were on the cover of Rolling Stone, had multiple platinum records and six international tours.

Switching to image results, Merlin found a string of picture's of a goregous blonde man in different poses - shirtless on a couch, obviously for a magazine, walking the streets in jeans, with his bandmates at premieres. At the height of his celebrity, in leather pants and wearing mirrored sunglasses, dragging a tall, blonde playboy bunny past the press. There were many other photo's similar to this; the glasses remained, but the girls always changed. On Camelot's official website, he found picture's of them playing. Arthur in mid jump, gripping his a red guitar with black flames. Arthur grimacing attractively into his microphone, mouth wide open. Arthur leaning on the shoulder of a man a little taller with red hair and stubble, both grinning.

Mid-twenties, he tried a lower-key persona, dating actresses and debutante's instead of drunken models and bunnies. He owned a penthouse in Upper Manhattan, a willa on the coast of Italy, a mansion just outside of London (dubbed Albion Manner, by Arthur Pendragon himself) and had a ranch in California. But these weren't the types of stories that dominated the press; most was about his marriage to Elena Prince, who'd just made her debut for Karl Leggerfield's spring line. Like his other girlfriends, she was blonde, pale and had large navy blue eyes, but she had a kind, almost child-like 'd met in America, where she starred as his love interest in one of his music video's.

On their third date they'd gotten matching tattoos in some seedy place in Milan - a large golden dragon, tail wrapped around his forearm, clutching a bleeding heart in it's hands, and it's twin on her arm. Three days later, they flew to Las Vegas and were married by Elvis.

From the wedding onward, the news stories piled up so high it would have taken three days to read them all. Merlin selected a handful and scanned them. There were numerous drug busts, a car accident, three pregnancy scares and many public fights. Once, a elderly man found Arthur, half frozen to death and high on cocaine, shiverin in the snow wearing only a bathrobe. "Elena locked me out," a delirious Arthur told the cops. "But it wasn't Elena. It was the devil. I would have shot her if my gun had any bullets." That landed him in jail for illegal possession of a weapon. Stories after this were shockingly similar. There was a blurry photo of Arthur, and he looked nothing himself, someone had thought to throw a thick blanket over his shoulders, and just looking at him made Merlin cold. There was mugshot of Elena next to this picture of Arthur and she looked nothing like her former self. Skinng as a famine victim, blonde hair matted, blue eyes half lidded. The only way Merlin recognized her was from the dragon tatoo on her arm.

Merlin felt a little freaked out, but forced himself to keep reading. Arthur was put in the hospital for detox and because he'd caught pneumonia from being out in the snow for so long. Elena's 'breakdown' had led to a five month stint in rehab. After she was released, she seemed to be on the track to recovery. She was featured on the cover of Vogue, but after that there wasn't much else.

A bang made Merlin jump, bringing him back to the present. It was only a could of guys, one of whom had bushed the other into the window, thus making the noise, laughing and cheering. Still, the noise started him, sending his heart pounding and a sense of foreboding was racing through his veins. What kind of person locks out their husband in the middle of December? In what universe did people wander around their neighbourhood in nothing but a silk robe, too high to care about what other people thought of them, squandering their tremendous wealth on cocaine and booze? No universe that Merlin wanted to live in, or even one he'd heard of. Still, he needed to know what he was getting in to.

He took a few, deep and steady breaths and continued reading, clicking on another website.

Not long after Elena's release, the couple seperated. Camelot's next album came out shortly afterwards, a collection of deeper, dark sounding songs that got good reviews but not a lot of air time. Maybe it was too dark, or people were ready for the next big thing. He went off the grid for a while when he told the press he was "ready to swtich gears" and the band brokeup. There weren't many articles about him a the next few months after that.

But then Arthur Pendragon started dating an Italian popstar so famous in her native country she was known simply as 'Sophia'. The sheer volume of articles about the happy couple overwhelmed Merlin. Fortunately, there wasn't much else about Arthur himself. After their very public breakup, Pendragon sued Sophia for custody of their daughter, Tia. He won and bought an estate just outside of London, going into seclusion.

A recent US profile brought the story up to date. Arthur and his band were reunited, and were set to record another album - "his big comeback" he called it. His story was sad, really, or so it seemed to Merlin.

The library closed at midnight, so Merlin stuffed the laptop into his bag and made his way across campus. He felt exhausted from staying up all night researching like an obsessed fan girl. He could hear laughter and loud music from a couple dorms down, but he ignored it and crawled into bed. He had an early train to catch tomorrow.

But then his body refused to sleep. He stared up at the ceiling and tried to silence the voices in his head. Of all the jobs he could have chosen, this one seemed like an extremely bad fit. Unlike most people, Merlin wasn't drawn to glamour, instead preferring a quiet life. He wanted regular work and a steady paycheck.

_The pay is good, _He consoled himself. In fact, the amount Mr. Kilgarah had quoted him was higher than he expected to recieve. Merlin promised himself that his life in the alternative universe of coke-snorting rock-stars and their cooky girlfriends/wives would be brief.

Merlin wondered about the little girl, Tia. Would she be a spoiled brat? Or a quiet, hurt child who was neglected by her celebrity parent? Or both? Would she like him?

Merlin sighed. He would behave with professionalism, no matter what went on around him. He would be as annoymous as possible, and blend in when he could. Most of all, he'd teach that little girl everything he could.

Promising himself these things, Merlin fell into an uneasy sleep not long after.

The next morning, Merlin caught the early train to the edge of London. He got more than a few glares from people stuck behind him as he struggled to lift his heavy suitcase onto the overhead rack. The train was about half full, being it a Sunday morning at 7 o'clock a.m.

Merlin chose a window seat, and quickly lost himself in sleep. He dreamed of nothing, just swirling colors, the image of his mother's face and oddly enough, Arthur Pendragon's dragon tatoo. When he awoke, they were in a tunnel, speeding along at a steady rate. The darkness allowed Merlin to see his reflection in the dark glass of the window. He was tall, very thin, and exceedingly pale. His black hair was cut short and neat. His light blue eyes were tired and set in a bony, high-cheekboned face. He wasn't ugly .. just rather plain. In green v-neck sweater, he looked perfectly average and the opposite of flashy.

The train chugged out of the tunnel and into the early morning sun, mercifully erasing his reflection. Merlin settled back into his seat.

_Relax. Remain calm. That's what I'm going to do. Remain calm. Even if I am basically a glorified nanny with a chalkboard. _

The rest of the trainride, Merlin mostly stared at the window, ignoring the other passengers. Before he felt remotely ready, the train was pulling into Nemeth Train Station. Merlin grabbed his luggage before he could keep the other passengers behind again, and hurried along through the train station. As the agency told him, a driver stood waiting, holding up a small carboard sign with his name on it. The driver was a man, short squat and leather-skinned with a shock of white hair. He nodded briskly when Merlin walked up.

"I'm Merlin Emrys," He said uncertainly, holding out his hand. Instead of shaking his hand, the driver reached for his bags.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Emrys." Had anyone ever called her that before?

"No, please. Call me Merlin." He gestured for Merlin to walk ahead of him, hesitated, having no idea where he was supposed to be going.

At the curb stood a low, black car with darkly tinted windows, like an FBI car. He opened the back door for Merlin and motioned for him to get in. "I'm Nathan."

Though Merlin would he preferred to sit in the front with Nathan, he complied. They made small talk about the landscape and the weather. There were many thoughts and a heck of a lot of questions running through Merlin's head, but he didn't have the courage to ask. What was Arthur Pendragon like? Was he tempermental? Had he actually sobered up? What about his daughter? What was she like? Was the house furnished in magenta leopard print? Would their be wild parties every night?

They rode most of the way in silence.

The car rolled to a stop when they reached a tall, wrought iron fence surrounded by thick hedges and a guardhouse on one side. A man in uniform leaned out, waving us through. The mansion that loomed up on the hill was ginourmous. It was ornate, and Tudor style, with massive carved wood doors. There were peaks and turrets and arches all over the place, making it seem almost like a castle.

Well, that and the fact that the front was covered in stone. Around it spread a wide, green lawn and a sparkling pond that had three swans on top, as if they were decorations instead of animals. A scattering of ducks were littered around the lawn. The driveway was long and paved smooth. While they drove up the driveway, Nathan talked about the rest of the estate. There was a guesthouse, transformed into a recording studio out back, and a servant's quearters around the side, where all the help stayed. There was an outside pool, a large deck that could be used to sunbathe, and two tennis quarts (even though Mr. Pendragon himself did not play)

When they got out, Nathan led him to the door.

"I'll see to it that your bags are put in your room," and then he opened the door for Merlin and walked off, back towards the car. Merlin stepped into the house, into a large, room with marble floors a high ceiling a sparkling chandeleir.

He was instantly met with a woman. The woman had curly brown hair, mocha skinned with a pretty face and thin, clad in a lavender pantsuit. "You must be Merlin," she shook his hand. "Welcome to Albion Manor. I'm Gwen du Lac; I manage the estate. You must be tired." There was only a slight british accent, not as heavy as his.

"Not really," Merlin muttered, still looking around. "But thank you. For your concern, I mean."

Gwen smiled warmly. "Of course. Let's get you set up in your room, and then I'll give you a tour." Merlin followed her through the living room that had an enormous fireplace and a polished wood floor, then around a corner. The rooms they walked by were all surprisingly sedate in style - leather sofa's, heavy wooden tables, thick furry rugs, walls in varying shades of cream or caramell. Very calm and masculine, not a hint of the electric purples or hot pinks that Merlin was expecting. There was art hanging from the wall, and a large bookcase took up the space of one entire wall. Merlin caught familiar titles as they walked past, excitement fluttering in his chest as he looked at the classics stuffed onto the shelves.

They zoomed past a formal dining room, a light wood table with a shocking amount of chairs. They went up the stairs and down a carpeted hallway. They did a couple of turns and Merlin already knew he was going to have trouble finding his way around. The room they stopped at was large, and very empty. There was a four-post bed, a plum velvet armchair in the corner, a dresser and a white writing desk gilded with silver. Merlin's suitcase was against one of the walls, Nathan must have brought them up.

"Not very homey," Gwen mused, opening the shutters to reveal the pool below. "You can fix it up however you'd like." She showed him the bathroom that was attatched to the bedroom and then invited him to freshen up and come down to have lunch with her.

"How will I find you?"

She pointed towards the intercom beside his bed. "Press the top button." She laughed, heading towards the door. "Don't worry. I haven't lost anyone yet."

Merlin looked arouind his rooms, shocked at having so much space. Dorm rooms were half the size of this, and he'd shared it with another person. His childhood house was small itself, what with the lack of money that accompanied one parent have to raise two children by herself. Another thing was that their was always noise. Long music, slamming doors, the highway, chatter, boyfriends sneaking in after hours, fights. At Albion Manor, Merlin's room was at the end of a short hall, with no companionable sounds to ease the loneliness. Merlin unpacked his suitcase, placing his neatly folded jeans in the drawers, and hanging all his sweaters.

He went into the lightly decorated bathroom and splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth once more and grimaced in the mirror.

_Quit worrying. Your living in a mansion. How bad can this be?_

Lunch consisted of Lazagne, creamy ceasar salad and crusty french bread. Lancelot, the chef, had brought it out personally, and introduced himself formally with a kind smile. He noticed Gwen sneaking a peak at him, and smiled a little, wondering what was going on there.

"Merlin, this is my husband." Well, that answered that question.

They ate, chatting lightly. "It's so quiet here. I don't know what I expected, but ..." Merlin poured himself some more water.

"For now, it's just me, you, Nathan, Ralph, whose the man at the gate, the groundskeepers, Lancelot and the housekeeper's," Gwen explained. "Tia has a playdate; she'll be back later this afternoon. Usually there's so much more, but they all travel with Arthur. Except for Magdalena, his publicist, she's on vacation."

"He's away?" Relief washed over Merlin.

"Off promoting his new album." She cut herself a slice of bread. "Doing radio programs and talk shows. I don't know when he'll be back, Gaius keeps adding things to the schedule."

"Gaius?"

"His manager," She took a bight of the bread, humming with appreciation for her husband's cooking.

It suddenly occurred to merlin that Gwen might be able to answer all his questions.

"What's it like ... working for Arthur?" Once he said the name out loud, he regretted it, thinking it might be inappropriate coming from him, but Gwen didn't say anything. "What's he like?"

Gwen smiled warmly, apparently fond of her boss. "Not what you'd expect."

Not wwhat he'd expect? Not usedo of getting his way? Not self-centered? Not prone to temper-tantrums, orgies or trashing hotel rooms? "I don't know what to expect." Merlin lied.

Gwen contemplated, for a moment. "He's more serious that you would think. Normal, like anyone else. Puts his pants on one leg at a time." She smiled again. "But still, he's more serious than I thought he'd be when I first started working here. He doesn't like the be interrupted when he's working. He can be short-tempered. He doesn't have time for foolishness. He can be a little egotisical. And he doesn't tolerate disloyalty. If one of his employee's says so much as one word to the press..." She grimaces. "Well, I wouldn't want to get him angry like that."

A whole new Arthur Pendragon began to form in his mind - less wild, but no less driven. "Is he angry often?"

Gwen speared a piece of lettuce with her fork. "I don't mean to make him sound like an ogre," she explained, chewing the piece of lettuce. "He's just ... what's the word ... well, he has certain expectations. But he's generous, he pays us very well. I've had much worse jobs, believe me." She proceeded to tell me the stories of horrible bosses over the years, and the things she'd seen as a maid at the Super 8, a waitress and a salesgirl at a boutique. "Arthur isn't that hard to work for. Even with all the things that come with the territory - fans, the band coming and going as they please, always here for rehearsals, all the hanger-on's, people calling in the middle of the night. You know what I mean."

Merlin definately didn't.

Gwen finished with, "It's rarely dull."

Merlin nodded, trying to process all that information. "And what about Tia?" He asked. "What's she like?"

"Tia?" Gwen clucked her tongue, a sour look on her face. "She's been through so much for only being six years old. That mother of hers, dragging a baby, a toddler to nightclubs and parties like a toy poodle in a purse. When she got older, fussier, her mother would leave her at home, alone, all night to fend for herself. A four year old. Can you imagine that? A child that young left to fend for herself. When we got her, she slept all day and stayed up all night like a vampire."

"That's awful. How long has she lived here?"

"About a year and a half. She's finally on a normal Arthur brought her here, she wouldn't say a word for the longest time, and she wouldn't let any of us touch her, except Arthur, but he's gone so often ..." Gwen paused, looking genuinely sad and upset for the little girl.

"But now she's okay?" Merlin wondered just what he was in for.

Gwen nodded. "Lise, her old tutor, taught her English and drew her out of her shell. Now she speaks it all the time. Can you imagine being five years old and coming to live in another country with a father you barely know where nobody speaks your language? It took months, but she eventually became normal. She's a normal, functional, affectionate, funny kid. She'll talk your ear off."

"What happened to Lise?"

Gwen frowned a little, "She spoke to the press."

Merlin neither needed nor wanted any more of an explanation. Merlin frowned, feeling a little nostalgic, thinking of a time when Will was young, and hurt of confused and cried for his big brother, not for their mother. It just sounded like Tia was in need of consistency and affection. She needed to be the center of someone's world, like Will was to Merlin when they were young. She felt unsafe, and uncertain.

There was still the same frown on Gwen's face. Then, when she noticed Merlin watching her, she smiled suddenly, covering it up, and smiled. "Now, come on. I'll show you the pool."

* * *

**R&R? Please? OH! And message me if your interested in beta-ing. You'll get a special prize! **


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